


Keep You Like an Oath

by Nenagh24 (EverFascinated)



Series: Steter Week '19 [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Humor, M/M, Steter Week 2019, The Bite was a Proposal, didn't know they were married, even with those two tags it's still not angst, implied murder husbands, mentions of being buried alive, poorly attempted torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 08:24:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20094250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverFascinated/pseuds/Nenagh24
Summary: Still half-asleep after being forced to search the preserve for one of Scott's stray pups through the night, Peter was unpleasantly surprised when a trio of kidnappers who gave the three stooges a run for their money interrupted his morning routine. As a rescue from the incompetents would include, at best,monthsworth of teasing, Peter was stuck waiting for the opportunity to save himself.He just hoped that these idiots didn't accidentally kill him while he waited for this strength-sapping drug they gave him to wear off. With any luck, Peter might even get home in time to make dinner before he and Stiles had to leave for the movie that night.





	Keep You Like an Oath

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Uma Thurman (by Fall Out Boy) because _I_ was the one who couldn't get it out of my head.

Near death experiences weren’t supposed to become so routine as to be _boring_. 

Peter was sure that when he was younger, he had ‘seen his life flash before his eyes’ as so many other survivors have said (though that may have been courtesy of the coma replaying his family’s deaths on a loop for so many years), but these days he found himself thinking of other things in his potential ‘final moments’. Things like what items he needed to pick up from the grocery store and how early would he need to start making dinner to be able to make it to the movies on time. 

(He’d forgotten to write down ‘peas’ while making up his list last night and it needed to be started no later than five-fifteen or else the carbonara would have to wait until after the movie, which was unacceptable as it was never as good when reheated.)

This, however, was getting ridiculous. 

The kidnapping itself deserved a solid B minus. 

They’d caught him while he was still groggy, having only managed four hours of sleep after a long night searching for one of their missing pack members. Somehow, the intruders managed to drug him just enough so that he didn’t eviscerate them on contact. They got points off for letting him see their faces before blindfolding him for the trip and for the truly unnecessary stench of 'unwashed alcoholic' coming from the one who bound his hands.

Unfortunately, that was the highest grade he could give any part of this farce. 

Everything else - the trip, the destination, the people, and let’s not forget their ridiculous reasons and reasonings - was a comedy of errors that Peter would be laughing at for years to come if he didn’t die due to their ineptitude.

From what he could gather, the idiotic trio had rolled into town about a week prior and had spent all that time trying to hunt down the Hale pack’s Spark to see if they could get some lead turned into gold for free. 

Peter’s stunned silence in the face of this poorly worded ‘explanation’ (that they’d helpfully prefaced their questions with) apparently wasn’t enough to express just how off the mark these irritants were, so they’d moved on to trying to force him to give them the answers they needed. 

It went about as well as one would expect when dealing with a ragtag group of idiots who were working of information that was simultaneously current and several years out of date. Peter felt like he could still hear the looping question and answer session even now.

Oh, that’s right. 

It’s because he _could_.

“Where is the Hale pack?” The ringleader, who hadn’t introduced himself or his companions during any part of the conversation, started the loop again. The delivery was nearly identical every time, though he seemed to be a little out of breath with this most recent repetition.

‘Six feet under. You’re a little late, I’m afraid.’ Peter’s usual (and truthful) answer would routinely get him a ‘smack’ from the alcoholic man. Baseline humans were hardly a threat to a were’ at the best of times, but the man’s strikes were lighter than Stiles’ playful pushes. Even forgiving that (which Peter didn't), the hits were so uncoordinated that the man had managed to accidentally smack the ringleader once, causing a minute long scuffle that had both Peter and the woman that rounded out their slapstick act rolling their eyes at the two.

This time, Peter tried conveying his judgemental disbelief through his expression alone, leaving the question unanswered as the sun rose higher in the sky.

The woman’s previous response of “Can’t be if you’re still here” went unremarked as the three continued to shovel. Her thoughts must have followed the same rut they’d dug previously as she turned to the ringleader to comment, “He was the enforcer, no way he was the only one to survive. He’d die before he’d let any of the rest get hurt.”

He had. 

His sanity went first and then his life in its entirety before he’d regained them both, but he couldn’t expect them to know anything about _resurrection_ if they couldn’t even use _a search engine_ to check if a family was still alive. 

“We know you have a Spark, Hale. Where are they?” There was the loop asserting itself again.

Shifting his weight to look up at her, Peter raised his brows and looked pointedly down before back at the scowling woman. There was no reaction or realization. 

He rolled his eyes at her, wondering why he even tried.

His own previous and oft repeated response of “The Hale pack never _had_ a Spark” was as true as his first. Sure, the McCall pack counted one among their number, but unless Peter found a surefire way to tempt Stiles away from his best friend, there really was no point in claiming another Alpha’s power and, therefore, no Hale pack to even have a Spark. 

Derek didn’t count, the boy had never claimed Stiles as pack and Peter sure as hell wasn’t going to let that happen in the future. He could put up with a battle he’d lost before knowing he should be fighting, but if the opportunity knocked again Peter wasn’t about to lose to his _nephew_.

“Come on, Petey,” the drunk cajoled ‘companionably’ once again. The previous iterations had brought him far too close to Peter’s face for his liking. Honestly, that their latest ‘bright idea’ made that impossible was only good thing about his current location. “We just need a _little _gold. A couple of ingots and we’ll be out of your hair!”

An errant shovel-full of dirt had Peter shaking his head to dislodge the bits that caught in his hair. Blinking a couple of times to make sure nothing got in his eyes, he then tilted his head back to look at the alcoholic balefully. 

The man didn’t notice. Instead he was staring into the middle distance with a look of confusion. Peter would swear he could smell the man’s brain cells burning as the drunk attempted to use them for the first time.

“What _do _Sparks do?” 

Never mind, he was just doing a poor rendition of Peter’s final line in the loop. After repetitions that had reached the double digits, most people would remember something as simple as ‘What exactly do you think Sparks do?’, but these people lived to defy his already low expectations.

How exactly did they manage to kidnap him again?

Testing his bound hands again, Peter rocked a little from side to side before laying back with a sigh.

Oh, right. He was drugged. 

That part of the kidnapping must have come from someone else. Calculating the proper dosage that would incapacitate a werewolf for a few hours without lethally poisoning them was a tricky thing after all. Knowing these imbeciles, they’d probably have accidentally killed him with it if they’d come up with that part of the plan themselves.

Peter knew that because they’d nearly done so twice in the last hour with something as innocent as water while trying more ‘creative’ methods of getting him to talk. Their most recent attempt at questioning might do the same if they could get their act together.

Sure, he could have saved himself (and them) a lot of trouble had he just answered their questions on the first iteration. It didn’t take a genius to realize they were talking about Stiles even if they were barking up the wrong pack’s stump of a tree. In addition, non-existent alchemy be damned, the Spark in question could doubtlessly hold his own against these fools, but there was a chance that they’d find Peter expandable if he gave them the information they wanted. (There was a chance that they’d catch Stiles unaware as they had managed to do to Peter <strike>a chance that Stiles would be taken, chance he’d be used and discarded and that Peter wouldn’t ever</strike> no.) 

Better to keep them talking as he waited for the weakness to pass.

Besides, if Stiles ever found out he’d gotten kidnapped from his own apartment, he’d never let Peter forget it.

The looping questions started again, and Peter ignored it in favor of trying to figure out how a kidnapping had lead to this farce. It was a pointless undertaking, trying to understand the mind of a fool, but Peter was literally a captive audience and he really had nothing better to do as he waited. Subtly shifting his weight forward, Peter shook the dirt off his shoulders before resettling against the ground.

It had taken over an hour of looping questioning for the group to move on to torture - as if their questioning wasn’t torture enough. They’d stepped to the side and discussed it between themselves, obviously having never thought this far ahead. A lengthy argument was passed back and forth before they all agreed that poisons were too potentially fatal. 

(Peter gave them a gold star for realizing that _before _giving him a lethal dose.)

It was the work of another two whispered shouting matches and a short scuffle between the ringleaders two minions that had them concluding that pain was unlikely to make him talk either, seeing as it was three baseline humans against a werewolf. 

(By underestimating human capabilities and showing a lack of imagination they effectively reduced their own potential final score.) 

In the end, they’d settled on waterboarding. 

(Peter gave them a D plus. Waterboarding was proven to be effective, but allowing him to hear the options and then watching them scramble for supplies really killed the mood.)

They asked him the same questions while subjecting him to the contents of three water bottles. Moderately distressing, especially when the drunk nearly drowned him unintentionally - not just once, but twice. It hadn’t been enough to get him to change his answers, however. 

Honestly, it was hard to feel threatened when those harming you panicked when you got hurt. 

Out of water and ideas, the three stooges had started getting antsy. Understandably so, as it was creeping closer and closer to noon and they couldn’t be _that _far out of town. When the woman got to the point where she was reminding the ringleader of those facts every five minutes, she eventually pushed the man’s patience to its breaking point.

Which was how Peter found himself here. 

Here being the forest floor, specifically about a foot and a half below the rest of the forest floor. ‘Earthboarding’ the drunk had called it while thanking Peter for the idea and citing his ‘six feet under’ comment. 

Peter had poked holes in their newest torture idea for over fifteen minutes as they dug the shallow trench only to be gagged with the cloth that used to be his blindfold while they finished it. 

The sun was now high in the sky, even if it was hard to see through the leaves above them, and the three of them were slowly shoveling the dirt back over him, repeating the tired questions at him again and again as they did, until he was well and truly over his lingering fear of being buried alive.

Peter wasn’t sure how they’d expected him to answer with the gag still in place.

Bending his knees to press his feet against the loose debris that had already been shovelled down, Peter shifted his hips so that the dirt pile that was slowly accumulating on him fell below his body. There was a reason those who were buried alive needed to be put in a container or knocked out. The hole had initially been about two feet deep, but at this rate Peter would be back at ground level in about half an hour. 

“Serioushsy, sheri, ceri- no.” 

How the man was still drunk, Peter wasn’t sure. Maybe he wasn’t _actually _drunk and this was just who he was; a man who bathed in stale beer, spoke with uneven slurs, and lost his balance frequently. He obviously came by his stupidity honestly, so maybe the rest was all natural as well. 

“Se-ri-ous-ly!” The man looked so proud of himself for enunciating the word that Peter nearly sprained something rolling his eyes too hard. “What do Sparks do if’n they can’t make gold lead? I mean, lead gold. Lead _to _gold.”

“Shut up and keep shovelling.” Obviously not used to this amount of physical labor, the ringleader was now panting as he pushed dirt back into the hole with his own shovel. 

(They had three shovels and no pliers in the truck, per the ringleader when he nixed the pulling of fingernails. Not even a knife to try and cut him up with. To tell the truth, Peter was beginning to suspect that the gun in the woman’s waistband was fake.)

“Now, for the last time -” Peter doubted that “- where is the Hale pack?”

Bracing himself for another loop of questions, Peter wasn’t the only one who was surprised when the woman missed her queue. A glance in that direction showed only the handle of her shovel where it was presumably stuck in the dirt.

“What the hell?” A soft ‘maah’ sound was all the drunk received in reply. 

It came from where the ringleader was just standing. 

There was no sign of him either.

With dirt almost (he hoped it was still ‘almost’ and not ‘actually’) up his nose, it was a little difficult for Peter to smell anything over the scent of the forest floor, especially given the body odor of at least one notable idiot. Combine that with Stiles’ silencing charms and it was really no wonder that Peter was as surprised as his kidnappers when the Spark snuck up on them.

“Peter?” Stiles sounded and, once he’d made it close enough to peer into the hole, looked concerned. That changed when he saw Peter’s flat expression. “Oh, good. Guess the lambs aren’t necessary.”

Peter gave that comment the look it deserved before unearthing himself as best he could with his hands still secured behind his back. Still standing in the extremely shallow grave, he sighed gustily through his nose at the state of his sleepwear. What had once been a cream colored shirt was now a muddle of crunchy browns. Better to just throw it away than try to salvage it.

Turning his attention to Stiles, Peter watched as the younger man finished extracting the last sheep from the kidnapper’s clothes to be able to tie it up more securely.

“‘Bah’ yourself!” Stiles grumbled, lecturing the ex-alcoholic. “You wanted to know what a Spark could do. Surprise! The answer is: Wreck your shit.”

Apparently unphased or possibly not realizing that they couldn’t be understood, the man-turned-sheep kept trying to vocalize any number of things. 

“Dude, we can’t understand you.” 

Peter wished that he could say that Stiles arguing with a sheep was the most ridiculous part of his day, but not even an hour ago someone had tried to convince him that ‘earthboarding’ was a real thing that wouldn’t _kill _someone when successfully carried out.

“If I’d known he was going to be this annoying, I would have picked something silent instead of-” Stiles cut off as he looked away from the sheep who’s calls were getting increasingly frantic. Standing up from his crouch, he stepped up to Peter and removed the strip of cloth that was acting as a gag. 

Dirt that had been caught by the article shifted and Peter scrunched his upper lip, moving it from side to side to try and dislodge the particles that lingered in his mustache. When that didn’t work, he went to wipe them away with first his hand, still bound, and then his sleeve, covered in even more dirt and leaves, before settling with exhaling sharply through his nose. It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do.

The thanks he was about to give Stiles died on his lips when he realized why the gag had been removed.

“There we go.” 

Seemingly satisfied with his solution, Stiles leaned back to survey his work. There were still muffled noises coming from the ex-alcoholic, but they were quieter now that the gag had transferred ownership. With a shrug that Peter interpreted as ‘good enough’, Stiles turned to him, mouth already open to say something. What his initial thought was Peter may never know as Stiles paused, closing his mouth while he took in Peter’s state. When he didn’t continue, Peter took the opportunity.

“I believe the keys were in the woman’s pocket.” Peter turned to show Stiles the handcuffs. 

“Sorry, did I interrupt something?” Not sounding sorry in the least, Stiles raised a judgmental eyebrow before making his way over to search for the key. “I thought you’d been kidnapped, but usually you aren’t so considerate with other people’s toys.”

Peter suppressed an eye roll and attempted to subtly distract Stiles before the younger man could follow the series of events to their inauspicious beginning. “We always could always use more items that couldn’t be traced back to us.”

“So you were just laying in a shallow grave as they tried to bury you for fun, then?” There was a jingle as Stiles stood from searching through the pile of clothing. His expression was still judgmental with a side of disbelief as he walked over to unlock the cuffs.

“I thought I’d try a little exposure therapy.” Peter gave him a lofty look before turning a little further to present his wrists. “I’m sure you’ll be happy to know that they made it boring enough that I’ll never have another nightmare about it.”

“Uh-huh. Right.” Stiles’ only ever sounded so agreeable when he was being sarcastic. “You’re saying you _weren’t _kidnapped?”

“Are you saying I _was_, darling?”

A finger ghosted over his wrist and Peter closed his eyes with a sigh. Judging by the sting, the drug had slowed his healing as well as sapping his strength.

“All signs point to yes.” Finally moving to unlock the cuffs, Stiles began listing said ‘signs’. “Your apartment was empty but your bed was unmade and your keys were still on the counter. I found you out in the preserve, miles away from your usual haunts with three people shoveling dirt into a man sized hole while talking about Hales and Sparks. Now I find that you haven’t removed a simple pair of handcuffs and you aren’t healing, so they’ve obviously done something to suppress the wolfy parts.”

Another click and his hands were free. Stiles waited until Peter turned to face him before continuing.

“But what really gave the ‘unwilling’ part away is that all this happened while you were wearing your favorite ‘at home’ pants. The ones you insist aren’t yoga pants, even though they _totally _are, and refuse to wear anywhere else for fear of getting them dirty.”

Peter looked down and unsuccessfully suppressed a frown at the reminder. He was going to have to order another two pairs when he got home to make up for the loss.

“They are lounge pants.” The familiar argument had Stiles rolling his eyes, but Peter paused before getting any further into it as a thought occurred to him. “You turned them into lambs.”

“Yeah, did you only notice just now?” Stiles looked a bit concerned. “Does the drug mess with your vision as well?”

“You turned people who you thought were _kid_nappers-”

“Because they are!” Handcuffs were waved as proof, but Peter ignored them and continued.

“-into _lambs_ and not _kids_.” 

“Oh, uh, well, goats and sheep aren’t that different. You can’t expect me to go for the pun every time.” Stiles was completely still under Peter’s scrutiny which meant he was probably consciously suppressing his usual fidgeting.

“Can’t I?” Smirk curling his lips, Peter tilted his head and leaned in. “Stiles, not only did you change the merpeople into fish when they wouldn’t leave, but you have also murdered a supernatural serial killer with a literal murder of crows and went out of your way to perform a five hour long ritual summon a lightning storm to kill a man who had tried threatening us with the phrase ‘you’ve got a big storm coming’.”

“I panicked, okay? You got me.” Stiles threw his hands up in defeat and huffed a little as he turned away to start taking care of the mess the kidnappers had made. “Let’s just clean this up so we can turn them over to our ‘fearless leader’ and get home.”

“Sweetheart, I’ve seen you panic.” Peter wasn’t about to let this go, not if it meant he had something to counter future taunts about the kidnapping. He trailed after Stiles as the younger man started collecting shovels. 

“You babble and flail when no one is in immediate danger and we’re both long past the point of hesitating to kill if someone is. So I think,” pausing as Stiles stopped to pull the last shovel out of the ground, Peter placed a hand on one of Stiles’ shoulders and leaned in for dramatic effect. “I think they were insurance.”

Freezing, one hand still on the handle of the shovel, Stiles’ confused face was just a moment too slow, a little too practiced.

“Insurance?” The side-eyed ‘realization’ was one he’d seen Stiles use on others countless times before. “You mean for when we question them? If they're all alive we can threaten one to make the others talk.”

“More like ‘life insurance’. Though, I’m not sure transfigured lambs would work as well as actual lambs in the resurrection process.”

“They would!” Stiles deflated a little as he realized his indignant rebuttal confirmed Peter’s suspicions that he'd been preparing to bring Peter back from the dead if necessary. Shaking off Peter’s hand, he turned back to the shovel and pulled it out of the dirt pile with a little more force than necessary before tossing it towards the pile where the others lay. “Sparks run on belief, remember? Now are you going to help me with this or are we going to miss our movie tonight?”

Smothering a fond smile under his smirk, Peter moved to gather the ringleader’s clothing, ignoring their hogtied owner as he did.

After loading all of the items back into the kidnappers’ stereotypical white van along with the kidnappers themselves, Peter caught a glimpse of the clock on the van’s dash as he turned the key to start it. It was barely after one. He’d been missing for less than four hours so there was still time for a quick run to the store after he’d cleaned himself up a bit.

“This path continues for about half a mile before it meets up with the main road where I left my jeep.” Stiles checked the status of their passengers before clicking himself into the passenger seat and turning up the air conditioner.

The ‘path’ was little more than the tracks the van left on the way in with just barely enough space for it to fit in some places. Driving carefully so as to not knock off the mirrors and make the thing look even more suspicious later when he’d be driving through downtown, Peter glanced between the path and Stiles until the younger man let out an exasperated sigh.

“What?”

“You found me in less than four hours, in the middle of the forest, with a trail that looks like this.” Peter rolled his eyes at the ‘what is your point’ look he was getting from the passenger seat. “Darling, we were out in this same preserve last night for at least that long before Derek even picked up the puppy’s scent.”

“And it was a good thing he did or we’d still be combing the place.” Stiles paused and rethought that. “Or maybe not so good, because then you wouldn’t have been home to be kidnapped.”

“Stiles.” Peter waited until he looked over to continue. “How did you find me that fast?”

“What do you mean ‘how’?” He was looking at Peter like he was the idiot. “That’s obvious, I used my magic.” 

Fingers wiggled next to his face for all of two seconds before Peter got tired of it and grabbed Stiles’ hand to move them out of the way.

“I’m going to use small words and hope that you understand enough to give me an answer.” Ignoring Stiles’ offended noises, Peter enunciated his question like he was talking to one of the stooges in the back. “Why did you not use that same magic last night?”

“Because,” Stiles answered in the same tone, “I can only use it to find you. Duh.”

“What?” Did he mean that he only had the materials to find Peter?

“What do you mean ‘what’? It’s part of the Bond, dude.” Another glance showed that Stiles was using his right hand to rub at his own sternum. Peter’s confusion must have been obvious because Stiles gave him a flat look. “I know you read the book, the ‘lamb for two lions’ spell is in that one as well.”

“Sweetheart, that book is referenced in several other books and it has an index.” Peter slowed the van to creep between two trees and winced as one of them scraped along the left side mirror, lifting some paint off as it did. Once they were through, he looked back at Stiles who had the look of someone making a horrified dawning realization. “I didn’t read any other parts of the book; it’s only useful to Sparks.”

“But, the Bond took.” Stiles’s heartbeat was speeding up and Peter realized he’d never let go of the other man’s hand as it started trying to flail. He corrected that situation and then ducked a little as Stiles headed towards full blown panic mode. “The Bond’s not supposed to take unless everyone involved understands and accepts it. That’s how the Bond works! It’s not like a bite or getting someone to sign a contract with a lot of legal jargon - it’s completely voluntary! But I can feel it, it’s definitely there and if it had connected to someone else it wouldn’t have lead me to you, but if you don’t-”

“Stiles!” This final repetition must have gotten through because Stiles’ babbling halted just long enough for Peter to put the van into park. Turning fully towards his wide-eyed companion, Peter carefully reached out and recaptured the hand he’d recently freed, threading their fingers together as he waited for Stiles to stop nearly hyperventilating. “Stiles, what kind of a bond?”

“It’s the Bond.” Stiles looked at their joined hands a moment longer before his jaw firmed and his eyes finally met Peter’s. “They don’t have another kind for Sparks according to the book.”

“So it’s like pack bonds then?” Peter could understand him not having one to the puppies McCall kept collecting. Peter himself only had a handful after the fire, one of which belonged to Stiles even if Peter’d thought the younger man couldn’t feel it.

“No, there’s only ever one of them.” Stiles swallowed as Peter’s eyebrows crept up.

“Like an anchor?”

Stiles huffed, cheeks reddening. He looked away, but Peter could practically see when Stiles decided to just come out with the truth.

“More like a mate bond.” 

The correction had Peter’s fingers flexing around Stiles’ and he realized the drug seemed to be finally wearing off as he forced his teeth to shorten back to a more human size. Perhaps the handcuffs had something to do with it? 

Glancing at Stiles’ unscarred wrist, Peter allowed himself a slow blink.

“Was this part of the ritual you asked me to help you with on the solstice?”

“The one with the oath you kept giggling over? Yeah, that’s the one.” Peter’s ‘I don’t _giggle_’ was steamrolled over as Stiles continued, “I asked you if you were okay with being Bonded and then had you read the whole ritual and you didn’t even ask any questions or say no so I thought you knew about it. Why did you say yes?”

“Sweetheart, I offered you the bite.” At Stiles’ confused nod, Peter tried again. “I offered you a _mating _bite.”

“I know - way back when you were still crazy. I found out what it was once you started lending me books.” The ‘so what?’ was left unspoken.

“I offered you a mating bite,” Peter cut Stiles off before he could get a sarcastic response, “and I never rescinded the offer.”

Breath catching in his throat, Stiles blinked at Peter for a long moment before relaxing again.

“Oh. Oh, good.” Stiles blew out a sigh of relief. “For a second there I thought I’d somehow broken the rules and forced you into the Bond, shotgun wedding style.”

“No. You did, however, neglect to tell me that we should be on our honeymoon.” 

Stiles missed Peter’s playful look that accompanied the reprimand as he was too busy shifting uncomfortably in his seat and looking anywhere but at Peter.

“Yeah, about that. We don’t have to do any of that stuff. I didn’t bring it up because you’ve been pretty clear about not wanting to-”

“Have I?” Peter couldn’t help but cut in, trying to remember when he might have said anything to that effect. “I believe the closest I’ve gotten to expressing an opinion on this was when you were still sixteen and accusing me of still being ‘murdery’.”

“Well, you are.” A muffled ‘baah’ from the back was the only sound as Peter used his free hand to point between them in a ‘pot, meet kettle’ expression and Stiles rolled his eyes. “Whatever, it’s fine. You don’t have to force yourself or anything. The bond works just fine with what we’ve been doing so, we’re good.”

“I’m not sure why you think that any part of this would need me to force myself to do anything.” Pulling on their joined hands, Peter leaned over into Stiles’ space until their noses were almost touching. He smirked as Stiles struggled to meet his eyes, instead frequently glancing down at Peter’s lips as he bit his own. “I’d be more than willing to prove you wrong, my dear.”

Amber eyes flicked back up as if to ascertain his seriousness. Peter barely had time to quirk a brow before Stiles’ free hand came up and held him in place as their lips met.

The kiss started slow and could have almost been called sweet if it weren’t for the possessive scrape of nails against the nape of Peter’s neck or Peter’s own groan of appreciation in response. It wasn’t long before tongues and teeth got involved and it would have devolved further if a loud ‘meeeh’ from the back of the van hadn’t reminded them where they were.

Stiles leaned his forehead against Peter’s as they both took a moment to breathe and collect themselves.

“Right. Sheep.” He leaned back and it looked like it took a bit of effort to remove his fingers from Peter’s hair. “Do you think we could just call Scott and have him take care of them?”

“Sheep who know that you’re a Spark and that we’re basically married.” Peter corrected. “McCall probably won’t take care of them in the method they deserve.” That garnered a terrified call or two from the back of the van.

“We could just take care of them now?” Frowning, Stiles looked down at his own clothes as if calculating how much blood they could handle. This didn’t help with the noises in the back, but Peter had to shake his head.

“We need to know what that drug was and where they got it from. Not only do I want to know if there is a cure other than time, but it’d be useful for when other packs invade our territory.”

Sighing, Stiles frown became a full blown pout before he brightened. “We can just leave them in one of the old cabins you were telling me about!”

They’d had about three on the preserve that they used to rent out to campers and visiting packs. Two were basically condemned, but the third…

“How far are we from the main entrance?” 

“About three miles down the second left turn.” Stiles was grinning, probably well aware that Peter’d basically agreed to that plan.

“I’ll drop you off at your Jeep and we’ll meet at my apartment at two-thirty.” That would give him plenty of time to drop off the idiot club and secure them with enough food and water before heading home to clean himself up. 

Freeing his right hand, he shifted gears and headed towards where he could just see the road through the trees. It wasn’t long before they were pulling up next to the Jeep. Stiles unbuckled himself and reached for the door handle before pausing.

“I’ll let Dad know that I won’t be home tonight.” Peter heard the faint note of uncertainty in Stiles’ voice. Reaching out, he palmed the back of Stiles’ head and pulled the unresisting man in for another thorough kiss. It went on for longer than Peter had initially planned, but neither of them was complaining, though the same couldn’t be said for the captive audience in the back.

“You’re always welcome, darling.” He clarified his previous response after they parted just in case he hadn’t been clear enough. Stiles smiled and leaned in for a quick kiss before opening the door. 

“Thanks, Peter.”

“I think as the kidnappee, I should be thanking you.” Peter called out the open door before Stiles could shut it and got an over dramatic gasp in response that was ruined by a smile.

“Oh, now you remember to thank me! I see how it is!” Stiles tried to be indignant, but he couldn’t hold a straight face. Giving up on that, he gave Peter another grin. “I’ll see you in about an hour.”

The door shut and Peter waited until Stiles started the Jeep before heading off to the cabin.

“Now, to take care of you three.” Peter ignored the struggles of the sheep in the back as he started planning out his next hour. If he could get the sheep sorted in the next fifteen minutes, he should have enough time to swing by the grocery store before Stiles made it to his apartment. There were a few more things he’d just mentally added to his list that would make tonight perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> I thought it would be funny if not only was the bite a proposal, but Stiles thought Peter didn't really _mean it_ before going and doing his own esoteric proposal of his own


End file.
